Truth, and Nothing More
by Meredith Trainor
Summary: Katniss places her life in the capable hands of Cinna, her talented stylist.  She doesn't know that he will give his own so that she can build a better future.  Slash towards the end, rated K plus to be safe. Set during The Hunger Games.
1. What a Pair They Make

_Summary: Katniss places her life in the capable hands of Cinna, her talented stylist. She doesn't know that he will give his own so that she can build a better future. Slash if you squint, rated K plus to be safe._

_Disclaimer: If I owned The Hunger Games, Katniss and Cinna would have at least had some action._

Despite being offered Districts 4, 6, and 7, Cinna asked for the despised District 12. His aunt, who raised him since his mother died in a freak accident, disapproved.

"I don't understand why you're doing this," she said, confusion tainting her every word.

"Going to the Capitol?"

"No, I can understand that," she shook her head. "You were always meant for more than this. You're gifted; you can go far. I don't understand why you asked for the worst possible district."

"Aunt Celia," Cinna took her cold hand in his. She had wrinkles and bags under her eyes from years of hard work and constant worry, something that was practically a birthright in District 8, where they lived. "I have to do this. District 12 has never had a worthy stylist. I believe that Panem is ready for a change, and Twelve may hold the key to our glorious revolution." She shuddered; she'd never been comfortable with what little he said against the Capitol.

"Promise me you'll be careful, Cinna," she implored him. "Keep your head down and toe the line while you're working for these people."

"I won't be working for them," Cinna said, his voice quiet but strong. "I'll be working for the children picked to represent Panem's poorest district. I'll be working to give those children a fighting chance." Suddenly they were interrupted by a knock at the door. It was none but Plutarch, one of the Gamemakers, and Cinna's secret friend.

"Celia," he said by way of greeting. "Come, Cinna, it's time to leave." Cinna took up his bags and kissed his aunt goodbye.

"Plutarch," the young stylist began as they boarded the train. "What can you tell me about this year's Games?"

"That's a tricky question," Plutarch said evasively. "Wait 'til we're alone." But sure enough, true to his word, the Gamemaker spilled all he knew when they were behind closed doors.

"The arena will be filled with woods, and the only unnatural effects we plan to use are mockingjays, tracker jackers, and of course, weather control."

"So lots of foliage…" Cinna mused. "Perfect."

"You've got ideas for the costumes already, don't you?" Plutarch smiled. "That's good. We want the candidates for this year's Games to be especially memorable. It may be the last year we have the Games, after all."

"And wouldn't it be a wonder if District 12 won, on the last Games…" Cinna caught himself dreaming.

"You do your part, and they might just." With that, Plutarch left to get dressed for dinner, and Cinna was once more alone with his thoughts.

When they reached the Capitol, Cinna couldn't help but gawk. Plutarch took considerable amusement from this.

"You're always so stoic; it's a nice change to see you like a child at the old Christmas."

"I never dreamed I'd actually be here. Now that I've seen it, well, this is going to take some getting used to."

"You never get over it, really, unless you were born here."

The next days were a flurry for Cinna. Meeting Portia, his new partner, and discussing his plans with her.

"You're a mad genius, Cinna," she said with a grin. "Just mad enough that it might work." She took up his side, ordering shipments of flame-resistant fabrics, and together they raced to make his madcap scheme work.

The day of the District 12 reaping, Cinna got up as usual and put on his makeup without ceremony. His Avox, whom he had fondly named Lumos, dressed him in a lavender suit and a tie that had golden flecks in its fleur-de-lis pattern ("Excellent choice, Lumos, as usual") and he met Portia for breakfast.

"Here's hoping we get two good-looking kids," she said with her eternal grin.

"I know we will," he replied cryptically. Soon enough, the television showed the dark, coal-stained district both stylists had studied and selected. Cinna's heart sank when the girl was chosen, an eleven-year-old. He had so hoped for an older girl, one with courage like fire… But wait. Someone else was pushing through the crowd, screaming that she volunteered. This girl had to be at least fifteen, with a long braid and flashing blue eyes.

"What is your name, honey?" said the insufferable Effie Trinket.

"Katniss Everdeen," said the voice that broke Cinna's heart.

"Another Everdeen, hm? I'll bet that was your sister!" Of course it was her sister, you dolt, Cinna thought angrily. What a bold, noble sacrifice. This was getting off to a good start.

"This is more than I dared to dream for," Portia said, her eyes shining. "She's already unforgettable."

"Shh," Cinna hushed her as Effie picked the boy's name. Was it his imagination, or did Katniss look suddenly downcast as Peeta Mellark, a sturdy boy with golden hair and eyes like blue sky, approached the stand?

"Oh, thank the heavens!" Portia clasped her hand to her breast. "But he is attractive. What a pair they make! You know, Cinna, I think our idea might just work."

"Your idea, my dear," he said modestly. "I only own the flames." And certainly it had been her idea to present them as a team, something no other stylist had ever attempted. The players had been cast, and the stylists rejoiced, awaiting the arrival of their champions.

The next day, when the train pulled into the Capitol, the prep team assembled for Cinna and Portia to speak with. A silly-looking bunch, Flavius, Octavia, Venia, Lavinia, Ferrero, and Klausa were the strangest assortment of style at its most extreme. Portia spoke first, elaborating that the pair must match perfectly at all times, and then Cinna took the floor.

"I can't thank you enough for volunteering for this district. It will be no challenge to make these two attractive, but the real task comes with making them unforgettable. If they win, I want them to go down in history. If they lose, I want their memory to haunt all of Panem, burned into their irises. And speaking of burning, Portia and I are going to try something a little different this year."

"What, no coal dust or miners' outfits?" asked Ferrero with the familiar clipped accent.

"No, quite the opposite. We plan to focus more on the coal itself. Or rather, what we do with coal."

"But I've never touched coal a day in my life!" exclaimed Lavinia.

"And neither has most of the Capitol," Cinna said smoothly. "But we know, theoretically, that coal is burned for fuel. And so, fire will be our theme this year." He pulled back the velvet drape that covered his first design, Katniss's and Peeta's twin capes. The prep team ooh-ed and ahh-ed.

"This will be District 12's best year ever!" exclaimed Klausa, and soon they were summoned to meet their tributes. 


	2. Hellfire in the Capitol

The next few weeks were hell on earth for Cinna and Portia. Every day, they watched as more and more tributes were killed. They saw Peeta mortally wounded and watched the blood poisoning take over. They saw Katniss's brilliant move with the tracker jackers, and Cinna ached for her when the hallucinations seized her. They saw the fireballs that Plutarch couldn't help sending into the arena. Cinna cursed the Capitol and all in it when she was wounded. That was the night he got drunk, for the first time, to forget the look of agony on her beautiful face.

One day, Cinna was summoned to the Gamemakers' headquarters by Plutarch.

"How could this happen?" the stylist asked bitterly. "The fire, the tracker jackers, my God!"

"Calm yourself," the Gamemaker replied gently. "Have a seat." Cinna complied.

"I wanted to ask your opinion on something."

"Of course."

"As you know, it is my intention that District 12 win these Games."

"Yes."

"There has been a murmuring, not a formal request, but just a murmur, among the Gamemakers, of a rule change this year."

"A rule change?" This was shocking. The Games didn't have many rules.

"Yes. And I wanted to inquire as to what you thought. The mentioned change could potentially affect our plans for post-Game Panem."

"Go on."

"Potentially, two tributes could win this year, provided they were from the same district. We would just have to make sure that Katniss and Peeta won."

"We?"

"If you agree that this is in our best interests, I will see that the rule change goes into effect by tonight."

"You have that kind of influence?" Plutarch did not need to respond. Cinna's unasked question, _If you have that much power, why didn't you save her from being hurt?_ was lost in his wondering about the future.

"I think it would definitely be in our best interests to keep them both alive." _And Katniss would never be the same if that boy died._

"I had hoped you would say that." Plutarch relaxed noticeably in his cushioned chair. "Now, to other matters – do you have the designs for the Mockingjay costume yet?"

"Not quite, it's almost complete, I'd say it will take less than a week to finish."

"Excellent." He stood and offered Cinna a drink. They spent the rest of the afternoon chatting pleasantly about the future of Panem, as they always did when they were alone.


End file.
